Warden
by Fourth in Command Cixalea Jwan
Summary: Alfred, Warden of Freedom, is missing. Arthur, Warden of Belief, and Matthew, Warden of Peace, are going to find him. But they won't succeed if Pitch Black has anything to say about it. Hetalia character-centric with "human" names used. Pitch is likely the only RotG character featured. No important OCs. Warning: some rather dark themes, torture, and possible triggers. No pairings.
1. Chapter 1

**So this is the first chapter of a fic I've had sitting around. I'm just gonna put the first chapter out and see what people's response toward it is to determine if I'll continue it. I have one more chapter that I'll post regardless sometime later because I have it ready, but whether or not I legit continue it is up in the air. **

**Anyway, be warned: it has some rather dark elements to it.**

**I do not own Hetalia. Hetalia belongs to Himaruya Hidakaz.**  
**I do not own Rise of the Guardians. RotG belongs to DreamWorks. **

* * *

Matthew never particularly liked holidays –the times when everyone is in a tizzy to say the least and the music is loud and the crowds are thick and moody. He much preferred the mundane of life. The serenity and security routine brought to people's lives. The humans didn't tend to enjoy what they viewed as just the monotony of Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, etc., but it made Matthew, the Warden of Peace, feel centered.

However, this holiday in particular, was the most unsettling to him –the Fourth of July. How more un-peaceful can you get when you're shooting off explosives into the sky at hours when people _should_ be enjoying relaxing sleep? However, the children that lived where it was celebrated loved it. The bright lights letting them for once enjoy the darkness many were afraid of and relishing the freedom of being allowed to stay up past bedtime. A few even got to play with sparklers or small bottle rockets.

While this gave Matthew and all the children's parents a heart attack, the children loved it, and if the children loved it, Matthew couldn't bring his heart to stop them. Besides, his brother was the self-proclaimed Warden of this specific holiday. Wherever he was, Matthew was certain the Warden of Freedom was watching over the children on his favorite holiday. He wouldn't let anything screw up this day on his watch.

And that was the reason Matthew was out and about, facing his discomfort, when he'd much rather stay inside and huddle in a mass of blankets until the night passed. His brother, Alfred, had been missing for many years. Alfred had run away when the two were still too young, and Matthew had made it is secret mission every American Independence Day (his brother always had a special place in his heart for the country) to look for him. The night he knew his younger brother (by six minutes) couldn't help but show himself.

Matthew opened his huge, white wings to the night air and, with a running leap, took off into the sky. He was sure to fly well above firework range. He knew better than to risk getting his wings blown off. Arthur would absolutely kill him. Okay, Arthur would probably just take his wings away for a month or however long he chose to stay mad. After all, the Warden of Peace didn't originally come with wings. They were accessories sold separately. The Warden of Peace was, however, not without his own abilities.

He looked over his shoulder to see the fluffy, white, half-translucent bear floating loyally beside him. Smiling, Matthew arced around, looking for another flying Warden who would surely be the source of the most obnoxious but no doubt the grandest fireworks display.

Matthew had been traveling along the coast recently. Like most other nymph and mythical beings, he was a wanderer –drawn to where his particular power felt the most needed. However, being a minor sprite, he was not _bound_ by these instincts. He could never be rid of them, but he could ignore them. Besides, why would anyone want to be alone when they didn't have to be?

Matthew's eyebrows furrowed as he once again thought of his brother. It would be selfish to think that Alfred wouldn't have found some other beings to hang around, but they were brothers. He liked to think he had a special claim.

He occasionally landed throughout the night to investigate the fireworks shows and look for Alfred, but he was disappointed time after time. As the night wore on, he began to grow anxious. He wasn't sure how far north he should push. He didn't know how long it would be before Arthur started wondering where he was. He didn't think Arthur would take it too lightly that he was out searching for Alfred. He would at the very least see it as a waste of time and misuse of his wings not to mention it might unbury a painful subject.

Suddenly, Matthew came upon one of the biggest displays he'd ever seen. He could hear the booms like they were cannon fire and there was so much smoke in the air Matthew started to cough. He was rather forced to land. He had to get underneath the layer of smoke or he was sure he'd asphyxiate.

It wasn't one of his more graceful landings, but he pumped his white feathers back and slowed his descent just enough to where he could land safely. Feeling like he parachuted rather than fluttered to the ground, he quickly regained his balance and looked around.

The atmosphere was on fire both literally and metaphorically. The people were oohing and awing at the explosions of red, white, and blue glitter in the sky, stretching out on blankets and folding chairs across the lawn of grass. The breaks in between the resonating booms were filled in by a full orchestra playing the _1812 Overture_.

Matthew was in hell.

Every fiber of his being told him to _get out of there_. This was too loud and too crazy and too chaotic. He needed to leave. But, forcing his instincts aside, he focused on his goal: finding his brother.

Something told him this would be the day.

He cringed every time a firework exploded and found himself balling his fists tensely and folding his wings tightly against his back as if to suck them into his spine. He maneuvered his way through the crowd not worrying that he was sporting angel-like wings. After all, being such a minor sprite, he had no legends about himself and, therefore, no possible way for anyone to believe in him. He and his kind were permanently invisible to humans, the people they protected. But, that was okay. It was easier to accept it when there was_ no_ chance instead of going crazy with the hope that he could be seen one day. Besides, he didn't need to be seen to know he was doing good.

He hurried his way to the outside of the roaring crowd, and he couldn't help but pause to watch the display even if for a moment as it was reaching the finale.

Suddenly, he sensed a very un-peaceful child. It was so strong he couldn't just ignore it. Wading through the people, phasing right through them because the unbelief made him akin to a ghost, he found her.

She was an adorable, tiny girl –no older than two. She was holding her hands firmly against the side of her head. Tears streamed down her face as she flinched every time a firework detonated. Matthew's heart melted. He couldn't possibly do anything until he helped this girl. Her parents were occupied with what looked like her older brothers that were enthusiastically bouncing around and pointing happily at the exploding colors.

The girl was crying, unheard through the noise. She was scared. She didn't like how the loud blasts were hurting her ears, and she didn't know why anyone was so happy that _fire_ was falling from the sky. She was certain one of the ashes would plummet and burn her.

Matthew kneeled down and whispered kindly to her. He knew she couldn't hear him, but he liked to think it helped.

"Hush, hush. No need to be so upset, little one." He smoothed a hand over her soft hair and under her eyes, which would have wiped away the tears if he were not intangible.

"It's just noise. Just loud noise. Don't worry. Your Mommy and Daddy wouldn't have brought you here if you could be hurt. They love you."

A purple aura which matched the hue of the sprite's eyes slowly began to spread out from where his heart beat. The comforting words floating unheard but somehow sensed by the child as the aura grew and enveloped the little girl. Slowly, she stopped crying for reasons she wasn't sure of. Gradually, the bright sparkles dripping from the sky looked less like fire and more like garland on her Christmas tree or like little fireflies that bobbed and floated with a friendly glow. Now, discomfort forgotten, she cautiously allowed her hands to unpeel from her ears and gave a tiny smile.

The purple glow leisurely retreated back into Matthew as he completed his job. He "ruffled" her hair once more as he stood up to leave. Smiling himself, he returned to his mission.

Searching for a little while longer ended when the spectacular show launched from a boat was finally over leaving behind a billow of ghostly smoke-skeletons of fireworks that once-were. However, a little ways in the distance, on the other side of the river, the show continued. Except, this show was launched in what looked like the forest –where no part of the huge city touched. It was probably going on the whole time of the main show, but no one noticed because, from the angle, it would look as if it were a part of the official show only to be revealed now that the main event had stopped.

It was him. Matthew had no doubt in his mind.

He felt adrenaline shoot through him as he smiled like the children he protected. His wings practically beat on their own, he was so excited. After what was probably his fastest takeoff ever, he exploded into the sky, much like a firecracker himself.

He landed on the other side of the river and gave a good distance seeing as, if it was his brother, he didn't want to get accidentally burned. If he was the brother he remembered, he wasn't too in control of his powers yet. He ran through the forest and upon arriving, saw who was launching the fireworks.

Matthew's heart stopped. It was two hillbillies in their pickup truck, beers in one hand and lighter in the other.

The sprite didn't know if he wanted to scream or cry. He…he had been so_ sure_ he'd find him. He knew it deep down somewhere. He_ knew_. Forbidding himself from crying, (He was over two hundred years old! He was too old for crying, darn it!) he took off into the dark sky hoping to return to Arthur's house before the Warden of Belief woke up.

* * *

Unfortunately, luck was still not on Matthew's side. Before he even landed he could feel the green, narrowed eyes of Arthur laser right through the magenta-eyed sprite. He made the descent much more carefully than his previous, making sure to float down like a bubble, much more controlled and soft. No need to make him angrier by abusing his wings. Feet on the ground, he folded the pure white wings in and stiffened for a moment as his cold feathers shocked him before succumbing to the warm of his back.

Arthur, his thick eyebrows helping perfect his look of condescension, had his arms folded with tension carving his every surface. He knew full well that this amount of animosity was doing double the effect on Matthew. The un-peace was making the sprite bristle. Arthur never had to do much to punish Matthew when he raised him. All he had to do was radiate how disappointed he was and that did the trick just fine. That was, until he was older and more skilled with his powers and the Warden was able to calm him.

"I told you! You were not allowed to go out tonight. Why didn't you listen to me?"

The best lie at this point would be to say that he sensed disharmony that he felt wouldn't be smart to ignore. However, Arthur being the Guardian of Belief, would be sure to remind him that he could tell if someone was lying by an extension of his main powers.

The second best lie –the one he could possibly pull off- would be to avoid the question altogether. That was the option Matthew chose to go with.

"I'm sorry, eh," he said.

It wasn't a complete lie. However, he made the mistake of being too general. He was sorry for upsetting Arthur, but he _wasn't_ sorry for going to look for his brother. Because it was a tiny, white lie, it was possible that Arthur wouldn't pick up on it. Unfortunately, Arthur's senses were especially sharp today.

The green-eyed sprite's frown deepened and Matthew shrunk. He looked down to see his ghost bear come up and nuzzle under his hand –wanting attention. Matthew complied by stroking the top of the bear's head. It was a strange sensation because neither the bear nor Matthew were technically tangible. His bear was just intangible to everything and everyone where Matthew was only intangible to humans. He brushed his hand over the bear's fur, feeling nothing, but, apparently, the bear actually thought he was being petted. Confusing as it was, the two never separated.

Matthew gladly turned his attention to the ghost bear, but Arthur was growing more and more impatient by the second until the Warden of Peace couldn't stand it any more as the tension reached an unbearable level of disharmony.

"I went to look for Alfred…." he blurted knowing that the tension would only get worse, but he had no choice.

Arthur's heavy eyebrows flew up and his wings twitched for an uncomfortable split second, but he quickly returned to his default angry glare.

He stomped inside the house probably to make himself a cuppa. It was his stress reliever. Matthew followed him inside as he wondered why the green-eyed sprite always seemed to forget Matthew was a stress reliever in Warden form.

The house was an old, rundown thing. It was well due for a fix-up, and he figured he should have found some time in the last century or so to address the issue, but he just never got around to it.

He sheepishly trailed into the kitchen to find the man standing with his back facing him filling the kettle with water for tea. Soundlessly, he summoned the light purple aura and directed it with his hand across the room and to his elder brother. Because Arthur was a sprite too, he could see the aura. Matthew always had to be stealthy with using his powers on other mythical beings, especially Arthur, who would resist the calming. However, he had been naturally light on his feet since his birth so sneaking up on someone was really no big deal to him.

He worked the purple aura to slowly encompass the green-eyed man keeping it thin and spread out so the tint wouldn't be noticeable. Slowly the aura began to sink into Arthur's skin and he visibly calmed. Whether he noticed it or not, his ramrod back softened and his stiff shoulders relaxed.

"That isn't necessary, Matthew. I am perfectly capable of containing my own emotions."

Matthew's smile vanished and so did the violet aura. He didn't mean to insult him. Could _anything_ go right for him? But before he could call it a night and retire to his bed, he heard a mumble.

"Wait."

The younger sprite stopped, suddenly worried.

"Y-yes?"

He wasn't sure what was going on. Was he about to be punished? Was he about to take his wings back? It wasn't painful when he got his wings taken away, but it was extremely limiting. Having to _walk _everywhere after you had been able to fly was probably akin to losing a leg in Matthew's mind. He shuddered at the thoughts.

"Do…do you miss him that much?"

Matthew remained silent, unsure of how to answer.

"Is that why you always seem to disappear every Fourth of July even though it hurts you to be amongst such wildness?"

"It doesn't hurt me. I just keep myself focused and ignore the… uneasiness it brings me."

Arthur sighed. He could sense that Matthew really believed he would find his brother. He sensed it from _miles_ away that Matthew's belief was proven false, that his hopes were dashed. It was the horrible feeling he sensed so strongly that it even caused him to wake up in the middle of the night fearing for Matthew's safety. That's when he decided it was time.

"I'm going to help you look for him."

Matthew's brows furrowed and Arthur sensed the disbelief.

"Matthew, you know I can't lie."

The sprite was still trying to comprehend this before he finally dashed it all and believed him. Rushing over, Matthew hugged him tightly and thanked him profusely as if he were still the child Arthur remembered him being centuries ago.

"I just don't get why. Why are you going to help me find him?"

Arthur folded his arms and scowled down at his feet.

"It's not right for us to have a grudge that's lasted this long. Besides, you're twins. There's just something wrong with you two being separated."

Matthew nodded vigorously as he tried to contain his happiness. His over-enthusiastic curl that draped off his forehead bobbed violently.

"And that little thief still has that set of wings I gave him! If he hasn't burnt them to ashes by now. I swear, that kid is a walking fire hazard!" Arthur continued to rant but there was only a slight tinge of actual bitterness. He would know if Alfred had really burnt his wings off though, but the sarcasm helped him release his anger.

Matthew hugged his mentor tightly again before running to get the map he secretly stashed in his room. On it were several red X's.

"These are the areas I've covered over the last couple decades looking for him. The only areas I haven't really searched are the high mountains, deserts, and the farthest north. I figured that…"

"You'll never find him on Independence Day." Arthur interrupted him.

Matthew stopped in mid-thought. "Why?"

"Because _everyone's_ shooting off fireworks. You need to find a place that launches the blasted things regularly. Somewhere the moron could use his powers more than just once a year –preferably every day. That's where you'll find him."

Matthew sat down on a wooden chair and drummed his pale fingers on the table. He closed his eyes as the tried to think of a place that would do that.

Fireworks are for entertainment so it would have to be some place that's purpose was to entertain people –specifically, considering their line of work, children. Fireworks were rather expensive so it would probably have to be some place with a lot of money especially if they did fireworks shows frequently.

"No," Matthew began as he put his head in his hands.

"If you want to find him, that's where he'll most likely be."

The younger Warden rubbed his temples and groaned. Of course Alfred would be some place where it was a holiday all the time. A place where kids went crazy and lost themselves in the thrilling rides and over-priced food.

Disney World.

* * *

Peter stood. That's all he could do. He stood. His feet steady despite the tilting and swaying of the suspended cage. He just needed to keep _standing_. His eyelids felt like weights. It was like his eyelashes were tied to his cheeks. It was impossible to keep them up. He pitched forward, but the vertigo of the sudden level change caused him to stumble forward and out of his sleepy haze momentarily –just long enough to right himself and stand again.

He didn't know how long he could go without sleep, but he was determined to break records. He wasn't a human and so he knew he could last longer than they did, but he still didn't know if he was immortal. It was something he didn't exactly want to test out.

"Why do you still fight?"

The voice sent chills up his spine, but he tried to use the sudden noise as a method of keeping his eyes open. Because the conversation could keep him awake, he answered the demon.

"Because you still try to hurt me."

The response was not cutting nor did it carry any venom. He was too tired, too weak to muster the volume for it.

"I am merely trying to teach you just as your Arthur taught you."

"Arthur never taught me anything. He…sent me away."

"He did, didn't he? Why is that? Is it because he _couldn't_ teach you? Or because you were too thoughtless to comprehend his lessons?"

"No. I…he…."

He tilted forward again as a wave of sleepiness tried to drag him under. He caught his balance by gripping on to the thick bars of the cage. The chain above him squeaked and groaned.

"He gave you those wings and then sent you away. Even he, the Warden of _Belief_, didn't believe in you."

"No…."

He sunk to his knees, trying to stay awake but the swaying of the cage resembled a crib for an infant, and the Nightmare Giver's voice was like warm milk.

"You're not a Guardian….You're not even a Warden….No one believes in you." He began to circle the cage and Peter tipped over and landed on his side. The pain temporarily waking him.

"Isn't that what you want? Someone to recognize you? You were desperate and went looking for the Warden of Belief. You thought he could get someone, it didn't even have to be a human, anyone to believe in you, then that'd be all you needed. But you couldn't even convince _him_ that you were worth it. He's probably forgotten your name."

"No. He will come looking for me. I have something he wants," Peter said, yawning.

"Oh, yes. Those wings. Those wings he manages to manifest off your back. They are rather difficult for him to conjure up and maintain for you –the both of you. They must make him so _tired_~," Pitch breathed.

Peter moved his hands to pry his eyes open by force. The Nightmare King appeared in front of him, rocking the cage gently.

"Why hasn't he come to retrieve them?"

The boy dug his fingernails into his skin. Anything to keep himself from becoming vulnerable to his nightmares.

"He can't find this place. You're hiding me," Peter whispered, too weak to add volume to his voice.

"Even so. You were wandering around in the sunlight for years, weren't you? That was plenty of time. He just doesn't care," he continued, circling tantalizingly slowly.

"You kept wishing he could help you. Wishing with all your little heart. How far has wishing got you?"

"There's _always_ something to wish for." He was able to shine just a small ray of determination in that statement.

"Is there now?" Pitch chuckled. "What a lovely sentiment. I wonder how long a wish can be thwarted before it gives way to despair, before it ceases to exist?"

Peter was unable to answer him. The rocking of the cage lulled him into an inescapable exhaustion.

"I think I know the answer because," the Boogieman whispered, somehow now in the cage with him and leaning close to his ear, "_you_ don't exist."

Sleep drug him down into a pit and left him there. He couldn't escape as the darkness surrounded him. The sleep stages began.

Pitch smiled. He would wait until the deepest part of the boy's sleep. Right when the youth's slumber became intimate and his mind began to wander, he would release the nightmares.

Fear was what Pitch Black fed upon. It reminded him of what power he possessed. Not all fear satiated his hunger though. His prisoners were, unfortunately, too tired to release worthy fear while awake. He would take what he could get, but the fear that radiated from nightmares was the sweetest and most delicious.

Suddenly, a burst of light exploded followed by a boom that echoed off the walls of the hallow chamber.

Peter jolted awake, jumping to a stand with a new energy he found with the adrenaline.

Pitch snarled.

"Stay awake, Petey! Don't listen to him!" A voice echoed from a cage across the dim cavern.

"Insolent fool!" Pitch materialized near the source of the colorful light, holding in a wince at the brightness.

"Actually, I prefer "courageous hero", but you get credit for trying," the blond chuckled, but Pitch saw through it.

He could sense the fear leaching from him. He was fearful for Peter, the young boy with whom he shared a prisoner's fate. He could look through the strong façade and see the purple bags under his eyes, the frailty of his thin limbs, and the redness of his eyes. He was cracked. He only needed a prodding to crumble. Pitch could easily do more than that.

"And you've done a_ fabulous_ job thus far. If you were truly a hero, you would have escaped and saved him by now."

The teen fell silent but kept a defiant upper lip, memories laced with a signature accent echoing in his ears.

"You can't rush a hero. I'm working on it."

There was that_ smile_. The bane of Pitch's existence.

"Yes, with much progress, I might observe. Just like every other endeavor you've ever attempted."

"Thanks. Glad you noticed."

Pitch ground his sharp teeth together. So he was feeling particularly bothersome today, was he? He really wanted to play this game now? The Boogieman was more than prepared.

With a snap of his fingers, darkness wove huge, heavy chains around the teen's wrists, ankles, and neck causing him to crash to the floor of the cage with a loud shuddering.

Next, the cage began to shrink. It compressed from its normal circular mold which resembled a sort of bird cage into a long and thin rectangle that had just enough room for him to lay down in.

The teen felt his heart start to race as he twisted and writhed in the cage. His one fear that he couldn't escape and, of course, Pitch, Lord of Fear, knew it.

"It's called claustrophobia, Alfred. The fear of small spaces, of being confined. The fear of being buried alive, being locked in a small space, or being trapped in an elevator that might suddenly _fall_."

Suddenly, the chains holding the now much smaller cage snapped and Alfred couldn't suppress his scream. Fear, even in those quick seconds, poured out of him and Pitch snapped it up like candy falling from a piñata.

It crashed to the ground sending the boy into a panic attack that dictated his breaths and demanded more. It was never enough air. He was going to suffocate. He was going to die.

"You'll always be trapped here. Unable to help yourself or that pathetic boy."

Alfred couldn't respond. He didn't have time in between his rapid and desperate gasps.

"And there's _nothing_ you can do about it."

He reached through the bars and grabbed a hold of the small, runt wings that grew off Alfred's back. Alfred couldn't stop the fear from building within him.

"Please, no!" he begged as he flapped his tiny, foot-long wings in terror.

His body trembled from the panic attack and the anticipation of the oncoming pain.

Pitch Black relished it as he let the suspense feed him as much fear a possible. A smile contorted his lips as the Warden writhed. He clenched his hand hard and twisted.

Alfred screamed.

* * *

**So there you go. Chapter one. Pitch will probably be the only RotG character. And it will be very Hetalia character-centric.**

**I really like the relationship of big brother-little brother with America and Sealand. I don't think there are many fics that deal with their relationship. They need to have more bro-moments. **

**To clarify, I didn't want to make the Hetalia characters Guardians, but I wanted them to be sort of personifications/protectors of a certain aspect of childhood like the Guardians. So I made up the term "Warden." Wardens are not believed in because no human has ever heard of them so they couldn't _know_ to believe in them. That's okay and that's only a Guardian problem. Being believed in is not going to be the main plot of this story. What Sealand is going for here is he wants to become a Warden. He's not trying to be believed in by humans. He knows that's not possible and is okay with it. He just wants to be a Warden. Anyway, I'll add in the relationship between England and Sealand later and why America ran away. And also America's wings -why they're tiny.**

**Anyway, fav and review as you so desire! Hope you enjoyed it!**  
**Looking forward to it.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you to those who left wonderful reviews!**  
**TatlTails -Thank you so much kind ma'am/sir! I am honored!**  
**lion5589 - Aw! I'm so glad you liked it! That always encourages me!**  
**READER - I'm probably not going to add in the Guardians, but who said that Pitch needed to be defeated? Or does he? Dun dun DUN. Thank you so much for your review!**

**And a big thank you to crazy YinYang writer7 for the fav! :D**

**I do not own Hetalia. Hetalia belongs to Himaruya Hidakaz.**  
**I do not own Rise of the Guardians. RotG belongs to Dream Works.**

* * *

"_Please, no!" he begged as he flapped his tiny, foot-long wings in terror. _

_His body trembled from the panic attack and the anticipation of the oncoming pain._

_Pitch Black relished it as he let the suspense feed him as much fear a possible. A smile contorted his lips as the Warden writhed. He clenched his hand hard and twisted._

_ Alfred screamed._

* * *

"Arthur! What's wrong?" Matthew asked with wide eyes as Arthur clasped a hand tight over his heart and began to wobble to the side.

Matthew quickly steadied him as Arthur's energy rushed out and sapped his strength momentarily.

They had only barely landed outside of the huge theme park when Arthur felt a huge, bursting pain in his chest. He silently cursed whoever it was that wasn't taking care of the gifts he gave them.

"Oh, someone hurt their wings. Bad by the feel of it. It will pass."

Matthew's concern did not lessen as easily as Arthur dismissed it. He knew that Arthur had many apprentices –all of which he gave wings. He just hoped the one in pain wasn't his brother.

Matthew never understood how the connection between Arthur and the wings worked no matter how many times Arthur explained it. They were both connected but not all the same. Matthew only knew was that he was grateful for having them and tried his best to take care of them. (He was also the only apprentice that stuck around so he was in perfect lecture-range at all times if ever arose the circumstance.)

"So what do you think we should look for?"

"Well," Arthur began, "we should probably look for where they would stay."

They both saw the large castle looming in the distance and headed toward it. The two knew Alfred too well to know that he would love living in a castle.

* * *

_Peter looked down from the ledge of one of the towers of the Disney World Castle. They weren't really meant for anyone to walk on, but that didn't stop him. He let his legs dangle down over the edge where he sat and leaned out. He didn't worry about falling. Alfred would catch him before he would go splat. Peter's own tiny wings just weren't big enough to fly with._

"_Aren't wishes the coolest things ever?" he said, as he watched Disney's fireworks show. It was actually timed with a story about this kid and his wishes. How if he wished hard enough, his wishes came true. _

"_There's just something about being young and wishing that seems so right, you know? Like, when kids wish for something, they actually believe it could possibly happen. Adults shove their wishes away."_

_Anyone who saw Peter would think it was strange to hear him say that. After all, he looked about as young as the kids that wandered the park, no older than ten._

_Alfred walked on the very edge of the wall too with his powerful wings, all fourteen feet of them, stretched out for balance. He smiled as he stopped next to Peter and looked down at the kids too._

"_Yup. Adults are just kids who have lived in the world long enough to put restrictions on themselves and limit their own possibilities. They don't dream anymore. They just follow the rules and blend in. It's a shame."_

_Peter nodded as they watched the kids below enthusiastically cry out at the fireworks. _

_Alfred looked at Peter._

"_Do you know what they wish for?"_

_Peter's face contorted to disappointment as he continued kicking his legs out._

"_No. I'm not a Warden so I can't, but I just feel like… I don't know. There's just a part inside of me that says that there's a reason I exist. That I'm supposed to help kids. And, when I see them wishing, I just…it feels right."_

"_And that's why you went to Mr. Grumpy-Brows, right?" _

_Peter chuckled at the nickname. "Yeah."_

_Alfred couldn't stand to see the winged kid's spirit so downtrodden. That's when an idea struck him._

"_Well…_I_ think you're a Warden!"_

"_What? I don't think that's how it works-"_

"_Are you trying to place limitations on the Warden of Freedom?" Alfred put a hand on his hip and snapped the other hand in a "Z" formation while swiveling his head._

"_No-"_

"_Good!" Alfred knelt down beside the boy. "Because you can't cage me! And I say that you, Peter, henceforth and forever and junk are Warden of Wishes!"_

_Peter laughed as Alfred picked him up stood him atop the edge with him. _

_He held his arms out to the open air and announced loudly, "All hail the newest and greatest Warden!"_

_Then Alfred conjured up an especially big and sparkly firework and shot it into the air. It dripped blue gold then shot out in random directions like excited fireflies. Peter couldn't have been happier._

_He beat his tiny wings and threw himself at Alfred and tackled him into a hug._

"_Thank you, Alfred! Thank you so much!"_

"_No prob, little bro!"_

_But as they were hugging, Peter grunted in pain and Alfred quickly set him down._

"_Sorry. I didn't mean to hug you that hard."_

"_No. It wasn't you. It was- aagh!"_

_Peter arched his back as pain shot through. _

"_Dude! What's wrong? Woah! Look at your wings!"_

"_Huh?" Peter said after the pain subsided._

_He looked to see that his wings were much larger than normal. _

"_They might actually be big enough that you can fly with them now!"_

_Peter's expression changed rapidly back to one of pure elation!_

"_Come on! I'll teach you! Let's go!"_

_Without pausing to think of why his wings suddenly grew a few feet, Alfred jumped into the wish-filled air. Peter leapt after him. He couldn't have cared less what happened to him after this day. All the wishes he ever had came true!_

* * *

"Is it bad, Pete?" Alfred asked, as Peter inspected the damaged wing.

"It looks broken, but I can't be sure. Your wing is so tiny it's hard to tell. You can't exactly move it all that much when it's not broken in the first place. At least you're not bleeding."

"Well, that's good, I guess." Alfred hissed through his teeth, as he tried to not cry out while Peter felt around the tiny, feathered appendage.

Yawning, Peter sat down next to him. There was really nothing they could do. Alfred looked over at the boy with pity.

"Go to sleep, Pete. I'll make sure nightmares don't get ya."

Peter would have argued if for the fact he didn't think he could literally stay awake any longer. Although he was still scared, Alfred always kept his promises.

"Okay."

Peter then sat in Alfred's lap and the older boy wrapped his arms around him protecting and comforting him.

"Good night, big brother."

Alfred was jolted for a second. He had often called Peter his little brother, but this was the first time that he called him big brother in return. He smiled wide.

"G'night, little bro."

He was out in minutes.

* * *

"Tell me something, Alfred. Why _are_ your wings so pathetically small?"

Right on time, Pitch was back to play mind games. It was like he literally had nothing else to do. The grey demon leaned casually against the side of the cage.

Alfred glared at him but knew better than to reply. He checked around him to make sure this wasn't a distraction for his Nightmares to sneak up on Peter.

"Did your mentor really despise you enough that he gave you little, chicken wings?"

Alfred didn't say anything, but Pitch couldn't taste the fear that came when he discovered another secret of the Warden's life. Pitch had conditioned his prisoners to believe that anything they said could and would be used against them (and it was true, in the most terrifying way possible) so they guarded their past from him. A futile effort, really.

"No? Then pray tell. I am rather curious. Do they grow and shrink normally?"

The Boogieman stooped low to look Alfred in the eye. The Warden remained silent and held Peter closer to him.

Pitch laughed through his nose at the silly gesture. There was nothing the Warden could do to prevent him from harming the boy. Only a Guardian had the power to defeat him. However, he did get more fear out of Alfred from the new arrangement. Having Peter in the same cage as him, close to the teen, made him much more protective and much more blameful of himself. He would be absolutely crushed if he couldn't protect the boy now, and that was exactly what Pitch wanted.

"Many accuse me of making magic, you know."

Alfred was slightly jolted at the topic change, but stayed soundless.

"They think that's how my nightmare sand works, but that's not true. Only Guardians can create magic with your little Warden of Belief being the only exception. Do you know why? Do you know how magic works?"

Alfred's interest was piqued, but he didn't show it. He felt a hand on his shoulder then a ripping in his back. He gritted his teeth at the sharp pain but it receded quickly and he didn't wake Peter.

When the tears finally fell from Alfred's eyes and his vision cleared, Pitch was now standing in front of him. He held white feathers in his hands. The tips stained red with blood.

"Tell me this, young Warden."

He crushed the feathers and it dissolved into a sparkly, white dust.

"Do you believe in magic?"

* * *

"So any sign of him?"

Matthew jumped down to another tower, letting his knees take all the shock. No need to use his wings more than necessary. Especially since Arthur was already pained by someone's wings today. When he landed, black dust blew up around him, causing him to cough slightly.

Arthur looked into the purple-blue eyes of his apprentice. They still held a spark of belief, but Arthur could do nothing to keep the spark going.

"I'm afraid not, my boy. He must not be here."

Matthew's eyebrows creased as his wings sagged in sorrow. He walked passed Arthur with his eyes downcast.

"Now, now. There's still more places we could check. One dead-end should not be what breaks your belief."

"That's the thing, eh. This isn't just the first time. I've looked for years. Maybe… maybe he…. Ugh. I don't know."

Arthur watched helplessly as he could see the boy's belief in the possibility of ever finding his brother fading like a dim candle.

The Warden clenched his hands into fists and glared at the ground as if that could somehow change things. That's when Matthew saw it.

He walked over and picked it up from amongst a pile of leaves and dark debris. Wiping the black dust off of it, he found he was right.

"Arthur. Come look at this."

"Is that what I think it is?"

Arthur said slowly while Matthew felt it in his hands. He couldn't believe it.

"It's his hat. What's it doing here? Peter would never go anywhere without his hat! At least, never when he was…around." Matthew trailed off.

Arthur avoided his gaze.

"Why would Peter…. Do you think he found Alfred?"

Arthur shrugged. "I can see them getting along. They were so alike and have so much in common. Both are head-strong. Both hate me." He used his shoe to make arcs in the dark dust that carpeted the balconies.

"Arthur, they don't hate you."

"Let's not get into this now, Matthew."

Matthew could sense that Arthur was at his emotional breaking point. Any more prodding would result in either tears or fury. Matthew frowned and looked back to the pile where the hat was found. That's when he spotted something else interesting.

"Is that a McDonald's wrapper?"

Looking over his shoulder to the bright yellow paper amongst dark dirt, Arthur sighed. "Yes. It seems that way."

Matthew set down the hat and walked over to the dark heap and began digging through it.

"Feathers, Arthur! There are lots of white feathers!"

Arthur joined in sifting through the black mound but fell backwards and scooted away.

"What is it?"

Arthur turned to him with wide eyes. "This material everything is buried in. This black sand. It has a darkness on it. Very, very dark."

Matthew removed his hand from the pile quickly.

"Is it dangerous?"

"I'm not sure. I'm not even sure what it is, but only Guardians and I can use magic. Someone powerful made this."

"But Guardians are good, right? Why would they have dark magic?"

"It's not real magic. I don't know. It's been faked to be this way. It must be based on Guardian magic. The Sandman's from what I'm guessing. There's only one being who would be powerful enough to create and wield something this powerful, stolen though it might be."

"Pitch Black?"

Arthur nodded slowly as he scanned the area. What they assumed was dust, was actually more of the dark sand, and it was everywhere.

"Then…Peter?" The more Matthew thought about it, the more horrified he was.

"It's very possible."

"We have to rescue him!"

Arthur nodded. As much as it was important that they find Alfred, Peter was in much more danger. The Boogieman was nothing but pure evil. If he had Peter, nothing good could come of it.

"Follow me closely. We're going to Pitch's layer."

* * *

"Alfred?"

Peter finally woke up. Alfred had stayed up even after Pitch had gone. Protecting Peter was the only thing that kept him conscious. Barely, but still conscious.

"Have a nice snooze?"

Peter smiled as he snuggled into his big brother again. "Yup."

"No nightmares?"

"No nightmares."

"Good." Alfred smiled as he unceremoniously pushed the kid off him so he could stretch out his sore limbs. He was sure that his legs had fallen asleep and might never wake up again. He stood shakily and raised his arms up, stretching out his tiny, good wing as far as it would go.

"Maybe when Arthur comes to get us he can make your wings big again?"

Alfred lowered his gaze. He didn't have the heart to tell the kid that he didn't believe Arthur was coming. No one knew where they were, and no one even knew they were missing. Not to mention both of them weren't exactly high on Arthur's nice list.

"Yeah. We'll see about that when he gets here. Maybe I can ask if he can make me a set that's red, white, and blue?"

"Colored wings? That would be awesome!"

"Hey! Get your own idea! I came up with it first!"

"So? Anyway, it's your turn to sleep. My turn to guard."

Alfred chuckled. "Alright, mighty warrior. But wake me if Pitch or his nightmares show up. Understand?"

"I can handle it, Alf. Just go to sleep!"

"No. I need you to promise me."

"Fine," Peter sighed. "I promise."

"Good."

Alfred lay down on his side and curled up in the fetal position happily. Within seconds, he was dead to the world.

Peter yawned and began to grow bored. Pitch didn't show up, which he was thankful for, but the anticipation was killing him. It was like he was at a haunted house and waiting for, well, the Boogieman to pop out of the shadows at any time.

In midst of this boredom, he spotted it. The black slithering that looked like an army of ants was marching toward Alfred, but Peter knew what it really was –nightmare sand. Moving quickly to stop it, he was interrupted by a jerking. He found Pitch clamping a hand over his mouth and his other grey arm pinning his arms into his side.

Peter struggled as he watched helplessly as the sand swirled into Alfred's subconscious. It continued to swirl until it formed into the shape of a nightmare to paw and pounce around in Alfred's dreams turning them into nightmares. Alfred himself curled up tighter as his eyebrows angled in a whimper.

"Not a sound, child. Just watch."

Peter grunted and tried his best to disobey the dark one, but nothing escaped loud enough to wake Alfred from his nightmare.

"See how all minds are tilted in my favor? How little I have to do to get someone to have a nightmare? Just a gentle prod in the direction, and their internal fear warps any sort of pleasant dream into a horror. While you might blame me for the sand, the nightmare is always of the dreamer's doing. I control none of the content."

Alfred squirmed and twitched as the nightmare turned darker and darker dragging him farther and farther into despair.

Pitch Black chuckled at the sight in Peter's ear before he enveloped himself and the boy into a portal of shadow. In a flash, they were gone leaving Alfred alone in his suffering.

* * *

**Sorry that this chapter's shorter. This will probably be the length of a typical chapter rather than the first chapter. I just had to introduce Arthur and Matthew as well as Peter and Alfred with their situations, and it just took longer for the first chapter. Now that you have your bearings, I got the chapters back to normal size. **

**So now Arthur and Matthew know that Peter's been taken by Pitch, but they still haven't really made the connection that Alfred could have been captured too. **  
**I also stuck in some headcanon. I don't normally write for the RotG fandom, and I've never read the books (only seen the movie). But, from what I can understand, Pitch can just mutate the dream sand, he can't truly create it like the Sandman can. I hope that wasn't confusing.  
It also kind of pained me because I don't like it when other do this, but I made Arthur an exception to the magic "rule." He can use magic even though he's not a Guardian because, well, it's England. England uses magic. It just wouldn't be right without it. **  
**The part in italics is a flashback. I figured that was self-explanatory. People will often use italics like that. **

**IMPORTANT: This story will be on hiatus for an uncertain amount of time. I've got my other fanfictions to work on that I've promised people I would give priority to. So I will come back to this one. It just might be a while. Sorry for the inconvenience. But I do still hope that you review and tell me what you think. **

**In the mean time, I encourage you to check out my other Hetalia stuff. I have various historical one shots as well, a recently-completed chapter fic, and some various chapter fics still in progress. **

**Until we meet again, review and fav as you so desire.**  
**Looking forward to it. **


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